Tonglen

{tong = give ; Len = taking}

The practice of Tonglen is a transformative meditation that shifts our perspective from personal agony to a universal recognition of suffering. By visualising the intake of difficult emotions as a textured, earthy substance during the in-breath, practitioners learn to courageously face their own vulnerabilities and those of others. This process is balanced by an out-breath that dissolves these hardships into a vast, tender heart space characterized by unconditional kindness and openness.

The First Law of Thermodynamics states that energy is neither created nor destroyed. It changes from one form to another. A seed becomes a tree, a flower becomes a fruit, and hydrogen & oxygen combine to form water, whose properties are fundamentally different from the elements from which it is formed. Hydrogen is highly flammable, oxygen supports combustion, and water…, it can extinguish fire. Transformation changes the form, function, configuration, and properties of the new substance from those of the elements from which it is formed. This raises another question. Can pain, grief, and suffering also be transformed ? 

Pain is real, it is the immediate impact of what life brings to us through our relationships, our attachments and our expectations. Grief is the experience of that pain, of a loss or parting, aging or decay and even death. Suffering is different, It is the way the mind continues to engage with that experience, recalling it, reliving it, holding on to what has already gone or struggling and negotiating with what cannot be changed. Now I understand that this is far easier to speak about than to live. Anyone who has loved deeply knows that. True love has the capacity to devastate us. Yet that is not the only possibility or the only truth. The present moment carries the pain of what is here, but it does not carry yesterday unless the mind brings yesterday into today Perhaps this is where Tonglen begins. Not in simply learning or understanding the concept or the practice, but in becoming the practice, embodying it, putting it into the muscle. That is the difference that creates the difference. It is in the practitioner who reimprints the practice, again and again, until it becomes a way of life. In the Tibetan tradition, this is reflected in the concept and practice of Ngöndro, the foundational practices repeated until there is no separation between the teaching, the practice, and the practitioner. Years ago (in 2019), while attending lectures in UCSC, I heard Robert Dilts say, "Knowledge is a rumor until it lives in the muscle." I understood the sentence much later, when I came across the word Ngöndro. Tonglen is that simple inquiry. Stay with that inquiry long enough, and it begins to reveal greater depth. What if the pain that reaches us does not have to continue through us? Perhaps that is how we learn from history and write our today, with newer choices and agency, one human being at a time. Every family has its stories, every generation carries something from the one before it. Some inherit love, some inherit fear, some inherit silence, some inherit grief. Yet none of us is obliged to keep those stories unchanged. I think of Tonglen through the lens of the First Law of Thermodynamics. If transformation is possible in the physical world, perhaps it is also possible within us, when we are ready… only when we are ready. It might take years of practice, or may be in a moment !  

Akkosaka Bhāradvāja, a brahmin, once approached the Buddha and poured out his frustration, anger, abuse and insults. He spoke until he had nothing left to say. When he had finished, the Buddha simply asked, "If a guest does not accept a gift, to whom does the gift belong?" The brahmin replied, "To the one who offered it." I smiled when I read that for the first time. Part of me imagines the Buddha saying, "I'm sorry, dude, I don't accept your abuse." Whatever we express or suppress remains ours until we learn something deeper, hostility ends when this awareness begins. Osho shared the Taoist story of the Empty Boat from the Zhuangzi. Imagine rowing your boat across a river when another boat, carried by the current, strikes yours. Anger and irritation might rise immediately, and maybe you are even ready to shout, complain or demand an explanation. Then you notice that the boat is empty. And suddenly, there is nobody to blame or yell or direct your anger at, and also there is nobody who intended to hit your boat. What else do we do in these moments except participate in transformation, allowing one form to become another? Then why only in these moments? Why not as a way of living? Tonglen, the First Law of Thermodynamics, the Buddha's refusal to accept abuse, and the story of the Empty Boat all began to converge for me. Each brought me to the same realization. The boat is empty. There is nobody to blame, nobody to fight, and nobody else who can ultimately take responsibility for the state of my own mind and being. Then another realization too, that boats will continue to bump into mine. Some gently, some forcefully. Their bumping is not always intentional, nor is it always personal. Life is not constantly trying to punish me, nor is it constantly trying to reward me. Events happen, experiences happen. My relationship with them is what gives them meaning, and my response is what determines what they become next.

Tonglen is a practice of taking and sending through the medium of the breath. It is rooted in the Lojong, or mind-training, tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. While the practice is taught in different ways across lineages, its essence remains the same and is generally structured into four stages. It begins by resting the mind in openness, groundedness and stillness. The practitioner then breathes in the suffering and breathes out state of resourcefulness. The practice may begin with a general visualization before becoming personal, perhaps with a parent or oneself. From there, it expands until one's own experience becomes a bridge to all those living with similar suffering. Tonglen is practiced both as a formal meditation and "on the spot (in the moment)," without formal meditation. It is a practice designed to cultivate compassion by reversing our standard urge to avoid pain. A common misunderstanding of Tonglen is what some conversations I heard practitioners describe as the "black sack syndrome," the fear that by breathing in suffering we somehow become a container for everyone else's pain. Across many Dharma teachings, the sharing by the monk is quite the opposite. The breath is received into a heart that is vast enough to hold the experience without becoming burdened by it. It is this widening of the heart that gradually dissolves the walls and fortresses built around it. The suffering does not define the practitioner; it becomes the ground upon which compassion is cultivated. The same understanding extends inward. Feelings that are difficult, shameful, or deeply personal are not interruptions to the practice but become the very basis of maitri, a loving and compassionate relationship with oneself. As this capacity matures, the boundaries between personal and collective suffering naturally become more permeable. The practice that begins with one's own experience can just as readily embrace a person receiving chemotherapy, someone living without shelter, a community affected by disaster, or even the anguish of a world in conflict, offering safety, compassion, and spaciousness with the same breath.

Four Stage Practice

When Tonglen is practiced formally, it is traditionally held between periods of mindfulness or awareness meditation. The practice begins with a brief moment of stillness, sometimes called "flashing absolute bodhicitta," a direct glimpse of openness before the mind begins to think again. Some teachers use the sound of a gong, Some teachers use the sound of a gong, receiving the sound fully before resting in openness, I have heard in the practice that this first stage as a flash of openness rather than a state to be maintained, a reminder that the mind already knows this openness before it begins constructing its stories. The second stage works with texture rather than narrative. The practice follows by bringing attention to the felt texture (emotion) of suffering rather than its narrative. The in-breath receives what is experienced as heavy, dark, hot or constricted, while the out-breath offers what is light, easy, fresh, and spacious. The visualization gradually becomes synchronized with the breath until breathing and imagery move together as one continuous experience. Some teachers encourage allowing the breath to be imagined as moving through the whole body, through every pore, making the practice embodied rather than merely conceptual.

(For readers familiar with NLP, this in-breath and out-breath could be understood through the CRASH and COACH states; (DeLozier & Dilts). The in-breath consciously acknowledges a CRASH state, contraction, separation, reactivity and hurt. The out-breath cultivates a COACH state, centeredness, openness, awareness, connectedness, and hospitality. The breath becomes the bridge through which one embodied state gradually gives way to another.)

The third stage brings the practice into an actual event that has been a part of their experiential world. Traditionally, one begins with someone for whom compassion arises naturally. The suffering is received and whatever would genuinely bring centeredness and openness is offered in return, whether that is peace, strength, safety, rest, a warm meal, flowers or simply a cup of coffee. When resistance appears, bring presence and holding to that as well. There is no rush; everything unfolds in its own time. It may be time to breathe toward one's own fear, anger, grief, or helplessness, receiving these experiences with the same compassion that is being offered to another. If another person's story evokes tears, anger, resentment, or helplessness, it can be helpful to pause and ask, Whose tears are these? What within me has also been touched? Personal experience then becomes part of the field of awareness, deepening both insight and compassion. And then the final stage, it is widening the field of compassion. The individual is one among countless others living with a similar burden. A single experience becomes a doorway into a shared human experience. The interplay from personal (micro/ zoomed in) to the universal (global/ zoomed out) is a space and invitation to allow one's experience to become the ground for compassion toward all living beings.

This illustration is a simplified visual representation intended only to explain the flow of the practice.

In Tonglen, both the in-breath and the out-breath occur naturally through both nostrils.

The separate pathways shown in the illustration are purely symbolic and are used only to make the process easier to understand.

An attempt to write down what he shared once in class as our practice

(There are many ways of practicing Tonglen. Treat this as one approach and allow yourself to experiment.)

• Today's practice is an invitation to awaken compassion.

• As compassion deepens, what begins as my pain, my fear, or my grief gradually opens into the pain, the fear, and the grief we all share. 

• Tonglen offers a direct way of experiencing this space, lets begin with our own suffering and gradually widening to include everyone living with a similar burden. 

• Begin with the breath. 

  • As you breathe in, receive the dense, heavy texture of suffering. 

  • As you breathe out, sense space, openness, and ease. 

• The breath becomes a way of contacting the substance of experience and opening into spaciousness.

• Now bring to mind a place within yourself that longs for healing. It may be a situation, a relationship, recurring thoughts, or a belief that keeps returning. 

  • Stay close enough to feel what is most vulnerable. 

  • Notice the story, if there is one, and notice where it lives in the body, the throat, the chest, the belly, or the face.

• With each in-breath, receive this experience completely. 

• With each out-breath, allow space, tenderness, and kindness to surround and hold it. 

• If the experience feels distant or disconnected, then deepen the in-breath. 

• If it feels overwhelming, rest a little longer in the out-breath, allowing the experience to settle within a larger field of awareness. 

• Continue breathing with both vulnerability and spaciousness together.

• When you feel ready, widen your attention to include everyone who carries this same fear, grief, shame, or hurt. 

• Let your own experience become the bridge. Breathe in for all who suffer in this way, and breathe out compassion, tenderness, and the space to rest.

• Now bring one person to mind whom you wish to hold with compassion. 

  • Imagine seeing through their eyes and feeling with their heart. 

  • Sense the suffering they carry, breathe it in with willingness, and breathe out what they most need, perhaps kindness, safety, companionship, forgiveness, or love. 

  • Then widen your awareness once more to include everyone living with a similar experience, offering the same compassionate presence to all.

• Finally, allow every image and every effort to soften. Rest as loving awareness, letting whatever arises be held with care. 

• May we discover the heart that welcomes every experience. 

• May we recognize that same heart in one another and May we learn to live from it.

  
  

Tonglen is strengthened through brief periods of wholehearted practice. A few minutes of complete attention carries greater depth than a much longer practice without presence. Like every discipline, it matures through sincerity, consistency, and the willingness to return, one breath at a time.